


Safe Like Springtime

by neerdowellwolf



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Graduation, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 09:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neerdowellwolf/pseuds/neerdowellwolf
Summary: "Where's your school spirit?" Jack grins, that wide shark smile of his. Alex has never smiled that wide, even before he got his incisor knocked out taking a knee to the face during a brawl with Abbotsford. "Last game day of our high school career."There's that word again. Last. Alex hadn't really thought about it, but now it repeats in his head like the baseline in a song. The spring and summer stretch out in front of him, a long series of Lasts.





	Safe Like Springtime

**Author's Note:**

> If this is about you or anyone you know could I recommend... not reading it. Instead maybe watch some [Cole Caufield highlights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3LmL3JwLLpg).

Alex has loved baseball for so long he can't think of a time when he didn't. His earliest memories are of his grandpa tossing soft grounders at him when his glove was still as wide as his chest. He remembers trying to get his fingers to stretch over the seams like Roy Halliday and the soft sounds of Len Kasper wafting from the radio in the kitchen as he practiced his swing against the garage. When he thinks about all the best moments in his life, baseball is there. 

The problem is baseball and Jack have been wrapped up together for so long he doesn't know where his feelings about one end and the other begin. In some ways he can't remember a time when he didn't love Jack either. 

-

Alex weaves down the hallway, trying halfheartedly to get to first period on time. His history classroom is all the way at the other end of the building, and he'll never make it, not with the way the halls are crowded with people decked out in blue and yellow, laughing and shoving each other._ Game day_ he remembers and then snorts, because he'll never understand why this school makes such a big deal out of fucking lacrosse. 

He nods at a couple guys on the school's baseball team. They haven't played together since they were kids, but they're alright dudes. He wonders what it would have been like if he'd been content to play for his school instead of various traveling teams for the last seven years. He knows it never would have been enough, but the jacket would have been nice. 

He's lost in his thoughts when Jack comes barreling up behind him. "Turcs, buddy where were you this morning?" He's smiling, like he usually is. 

"My mom had to take her car to the shop, so she borrowed mine and dropped me off." It hadn't occurred to him to text Jack. It wasn't like they always drove in together. 

They slow their pace, even though it'll definitely mean they won't make it by the bell. Up ahead a group of lacrosse players are jostling each other by their lockers. Alex doesn't know what they have to be so happy about, he's pretty sure they have a losing record. 

"Last pep rally today, eh boys?" Jack calls out. Alex didn't even realize he knew them, but they woop in return, high fiving Jack as they pass. 

"Go Pirates!" Jack yells, jogging backwards next to Alex. They yell again and bang their fists on the lockers. 

Alex raises his eyebrows at Jack as he turns around. "Since when do you know the lacrosse team, Hughesy?"

"Where's your school spirit?" Jack grins, that wide shark smile of his. Alex has never smiled that wide, even before he got his incisor knocked out taking a knee to the face during a brawl with Abbotsford. "Last game day of our high school career."

There's that word again. Last. Alex hadn't really thought about it but now it repeats in his head like the baseline in a song. The rest of the spring and summer stretches out in front of him, a long series of Lasts. 

-

The light is fading and the mosquitoes are starting to bite at his neck. Alex knows they should stop soon, that eventually he'll start to lose the ball in the dusk, but they don't, they keep throwing the ball back and forth, the rhythm steady and familiar. He and Jack could play catch blindfolded at this point. 

They're out in the outfield of Field 3. Neither of them have played on this field in years, with its partially overgrown infield and dingy dugouts, but Jack loves it, so this is where they come when it's just the two of them. 

"Your curve is getting sick, bro," Jack says. His voice is hoarse, Alex isn't sure why. It makes it sound lower. He wonders if it's how he'll sound when he's older. He imagines calling Jack one day and no longer recognizing his voice. The thought catches in his chest. 

Alex shrugs. He's not humble, he knows he's good. The scouts mostly come for Jack, he gets that, but they come to his starts too. Even though they’re both going to be drafted high this summer, he can't help feeling like he's being left behind. He doesn't say it out loud, but he thinks about it. 

"Alright," Jack says and tucks his glove under his arm. He throws his other arm over Alex's shoulder when he reaches him. "Come over, let's watch something."

Alex pauses, trying to commit this feeling to memory. "Ok, but it's my turn to pick."

-

Mathematically this game doesn't matter. They're going to to the playoffs and so is Franklin, but it's still not a game either team wants to lose. Especially not 1-0 when Jack was absolutely lights out for seven innings. No one wants him to get stuck with the loss when he's so close to the league record, but that’s what will happen if they can’t come back. Jack's on the bench now, fidgeting and trying to pretend not to be mad. He's doing a good job too, but Alex can see the way his thumb is twitching against his leg. 

Bottom of the ninth Trevor gets up with one out and bloops a single into shallow center. It's not pretty, but a hit's a hit. Alex can feel the buzz building in his chest, the energy in the dugout changing, like a chemical reaction. They're about to do something great, something special. Jack comes to stand next to him at the railing, their elbows pressed together. 

Case grounds out and the crowd deflates behind them, but the team still stands alert, ready. Pat is up and he walks slowly to the plate with the swagger of someone with twice his batting average. Trevor takes a few steps off first, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Next to Alex Jack shifts his weight side to side and Alex knows he can feel it too, like the crackle in the air before a storm. 

First pitch Pat connects, and everyone knows it's gone by the sound; a loud, resounding crack. Alex leaps up, vaulting over the rail in a single motion, the rest of the boys right behind him. They swarm Trevor as he comes home and as Pat rounds third they start bouncing together, a singular rhythm until Pat crosses the plate and they explode. 

They leap up and down and Alex doesn't think he's ever been this happy. It's like nothing can touch them. 

-

“Alex!” His father’s voice rings out across the diamond. He has a ball in his hand, poised to drop it in the mouth of the pitching machine. 

“Yeah,” Alex answers, as if his mind hadn’t drifted. 

“Where is your head today?” His father says, less a question than a statement. He's not mad, Alex doesn't think he's ever seen him mad, but he's concerned, like something must be wrong. 

Alex is tempted to tell him it’s just batting practice. They’ve been at it for 45 minutes already and he’s a pitcher who already hits better than half the position players he faces. It's not the practice he minds. Their rotation competes with the batting average just as much as their ERA, sometimes more. (At least when they hit they’re on somewhat equal ground, only lose to Jack half the time.) It’s not even that it's ninety degrees out, the sun beating down on him, his shirt clinging to his back. The real issue is Alex can't shake the picture Jack had sent him from Beech’s pool an hour ago. It's not the first time Alex has missed out on an afternoon with the boys, because his dad or his grandfather was running him through drills, not by a long shot. It’s not the first time, but low in his gut he wonders if it will be the last.

He takes a breath to clear his mind and readies his stance. As much as he hates the idea of missing out on an afternoon with his boys, he hates even more the idea of getting up to the plate and thinking he could have done more, trained harder. His father smiles and drops the ball into the machine, sending it rocketing towards him. Alex hits it far enough that he'll have to dig it out of the underbrush over the left field fence when they're done. 

-

The Gazette publishes a picture from the Franklin game. His mother has it laid out on the table when Alex comes down for breakfast. It must have been taken just after Pat crossed the plate, because they're all mid-air, caught just as the chaos erupted. Alex's eyes are closed in the picture, mouth open wide as he yelled. Jack is right next to him, which is normal enough, but instead of looking at Pat, like the rest of them, Jack's eyes are on him.

Alex looks up at his mom, feeling flayed open. "I'll take it to get framed today," she says. 

He can feel tears start to prick at his eyes. "Thanks, Mom." 

He stares at the picture for a long time. 

-

Cole had explained parallel universes to him once. They were laying across the bleachers long after everyone else was gone, smoking weed Alex's sister had gotten for them. 

"There's an infinite number of other worlds like ours and we like exist in all of them, but something's different in each one."

Alex ran his thumb over the metal ridges of the bench. "So there's a universe where I play short?"

Cole laughed. "Yeah, but there's also one where you play rugby or whatever."

Alex hummed, considering. The joint had gone out in his hand, but he felt good, his limbs loose and his chest warm, he didn't want to push it. Cole didn't reach for it either. 

"There's probably one where we're not even athletes."

"Ew," he said and Cole laughed again. 

Alex kept thinking about it when he got home, staring at his bedroom ceiling, at the remnants of the tape from the Andy Pettitte poster he'd put up after he and Jack watched him win game 4 when they were eight. He wondered how he would feel if things were different and Jack was just some guy, not the best pitcher he'd ever seen, a scholarship to Princeton in the fall, the majors after that, probably a Cy Young one day. The problem is he can't imagine a world in which he isn't somebody. A million universes and Alex is pretty sure Jack is special in all of them. 

-

One minute it's drizzling and the next the skies open up, water coming down in huge sheets. The ump raises his hand and both teams sprint towards their dugouts. Alex is waiting with Jack's jacket in his hand and holds it out as Jack scurries under the awning, pushing his wet hair off his forehead and grinning wide. 

"I'm fucking soaked, holy shit."

Pat bounces up to them and throws a towel over Jack's head, rubbing his hair like a dog. 

"Thanks, buddy," Jack laughs, pulling at Pat’s hoodie and leaning into his shoulder. 

Alex takes a step back as the rain picks up again, ricocheting into the dugout. They're up 3-2, so if it gets called it's a win for them. It's not that Alex wants to win on a technicality, but he squints out at the field, at the puddles rapidly forming around the infield. He doubts anyone wants to go back out in that. 

"Rain waited until the 6th," Pat says leaning against the bench. "Even the weather loves you, Jacky."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack says, draping his jacket over his right arm.

Pat bounces on his toes. "Come over tonight. Sarah says she'll bring her friends from the track team."

Trevor leans into the group. "All the way in, bro." He elbows Alex in the side. "Maybe that girl from Beech's party will be there."

Alex smiles back. The suggestion holds its appeal, but there will be plenty of parties next year, plenty of girls. The time with his boys, he can feel it slipping between his fingers. 

"It's pouring, bro," Jack says, pushing the towel down around his shoulders. "No way they'll actually wanna go out. Let's hang out tonight, just the boys."

Alex knows anyone else might catch shit, but not Jack. Everyone's face lights up.

"Boy's night!" Pat says and smacks Jack in the thigh with his towel. 

"Game's not called yet, boys," Coach says, but his heart's not in it. 

Alex's mouth twitches as he tries to tamp down his smile, look appropriately focused even as water starts to form a river through the on deck circle. Jack comes over to lean into his side. 

"Thanks," Alex says, dropping his voice. 

Jack pauses and Alex glances over, wanting to see his face. "Plenty of parties next year, right?"

Alex's heart beats double time and he wishes he could ask if Jack did it for him. He doesn't, just smiles. "Yeah and next year Quinn won't have to buy us beer." 

-

Alex eats dinner most nights at the Hughes house. His parents usually work late and once Ellen had realized Alex was heating up leftovers for himself, she'd made sure the invitation was standing. He stayed home one night, suddenly self-conscious about infringing on Jack's time. Looking back Alex wonders if maybe that had been the turning point, the realization he might want more from Jack than he could have. 

Jack had come wandering across their yards and peered inside the sliding glass door. "You're late," he said. "I thought you might have died, bro."

"That's so dramatic," Alex said, but followed Jack back to his house. 

"Oh good," Quinn said, slouched at the table already. "I thought Jack was gonna shit himself when you didn't show."

Jack laughed and kicked Quinn under the table as he sat down. 

"Language!" Ellen cuffed Quinn on the shoulder. She turned to Alex. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Alex said, suddenly embarrassed. "I just lost track of time. Thanks for dinner."

"Lasagnaaaa!" Luke said, mouth already full.

"Are you and Cole looking forward to Wisconsin?" Jack's dad asked. He'd been traveling so much he hadn't had a chance to ask.

"Yeah, he doesn't usually catch for me, it should be fun." Alex was excited he and Cole would be together at Wisconsin next year, but it was hard to pretend he was looking forward to it. He had Cole here too. 

He ate the lasagna and it tasted like home.

-

They kiss just once. It's 4:30 in the morning when they get off the bus from Cleveland, exhausted and sore. There's still mist in the air and it settles on the windshield of Jack's Jeep, Jack runs his fingers through it and flicks it at Alex as they load their bags into the trunk. If they drive home now they can still catch a couple hours of sleep, but Jack doesn't start the car and Alex doesn't ask him to. It was their last away game, but neither of them say it, they just sit and talk as light begins to spill over the scoreboard of Field 1. 

"Let's go to Stagecoach this summer," Jack says. His head lolls against his seat. "You and me, we'll camp. It'll be sick."

"Hell yeah." Alex smiles. He knows it won't stay just the two of them, it never does, but he likes that that's how it starts. Him and Jack. Always. The sense of impending doom lifts momentarily and is replaced by a buoyancy in his chest. The feeling takes over and before he can think about it he's leaning forward. 

Jack kisses him back. He hooks his hand in Alex's hoodie, keeping him over the center console. Alex is running on barely any sleep, eyes gritty from so many hours on the bus, but Jack's mouth is warm and soft on his. They kiss for a long time.

"Let's go to Benny's," Jack says when he finally pulls away. His voice is bright and happy. 

Alex nods, he wants to touch his mouth, feel where it's still wet from Jack's lips. "Will you share your pancakes with me?" 

"Who says I'm getting pancakes?" Jack has his hand on the gear shift, but he doesn't move. 

Alex scoffs. "You always get pancakes after we win."

"It's lucky," Jack says. They've had this conversation a hundred times. 

"What d'you need luck for? We already won." Alex wishes this moment could last forever. 

"You can never have enough luck, Turkey." The sun splashes bright across Jack's face, the day already coming at them. 

Alex pulls their sunglasses out of the overhead compartment and hands Jack's to him. "You make your own luck."

Jack grins. "Yeah, with the pancakes."

-

The team heads up to Jack's family's lake house after they win their last game of the regular season. Trevor drives too fast and Alex puts his feet up on the dashboard, singing along to a playlist he made for the trip. Mostly country, but he threw in some Drake because it was a lake weekend. Pat sprawls across the backseat, massively hungover and moaning at every bump in the road. 

"Gotta stop setting pace with Beech," Trevor says. "Kid's a tank."

"You're a tank," Pat mumbles. 

Alex holds his hand out the window letting his fingers catch in the wind. "Hope you learned an important lesson from this, Moyni." 

"Be nice to me," Pat groans. 

"Yeah, Turcs, be nice to Patrick,” Trevor says, his voice stern, before swerving quickly into the fast lane. Pat moans. 

They end up arriving last, because Pat drinks so much Gatorade they have to stop four times. 

Almost the entire team makes it up and they spend the day lounging on the dock, playing spikeball on the lawn and jumping in the lake when they get hot. Halfway through the day Cole’s shoulders are already pink. 

After dinner they build a fire on the beach and work their way through two 30 racks of Natty Light telling stories they all already know.

"Remember when Boldy absolutely ripped one on the bus," Trevor says. "And kept trying to pretend it was coach."

"What the fuck it WAS coach!" Matt exclaims and everyone howls.

"My fucking favorite thing was when Coley almost fought that fucking house from Notre Dame," Beech says from where he’s sitting on the ground, his back against Pat’s chair. 

“Our little Coley,” Jack says. “Ready to rumble.”

“Cole, you almost died!” Alex says. 

Cole laughs and pulls the strings of his hoodie, so it scrunches around his face. “I didn’t almost fight him.”

Jack tells the entire story anyway and even though they were all there, and they've all told and heard it a dozen times, Alex laughs until his stomach hurts. 

-

It's not that Alex doesn't care about graduation, it's just that he's always measured his life in baseball seasons rather than school years and his season isn't over yet. Still, it feels good to throw his cap up in the air with the rest of his class. Jack tosses his cap at Alex's chest. "Last graduation for us, eh?"

Alex laughs. "Speak for yourself, Hughesy."

"Nah, one and done, calling it now," Jack says, pulling him close. 

He goes to dinner with his entire family and it's late before he gets away from his uncles and their stories of college ball. 

He heads straight to Field 3 when he finally gets excused. Jack is there, sitting at the base of the mound, arms stretched casually behind his head. "Eyyyyy buddy!" Jack says when he notices Alex approaching. 

"Thought I'd find you here," Alex says. He drops to the ground. Jack looks over as he does and they sit in silence for a long moment. They spend enough time together that they're good at sitting quietly, but this feels loaded, Alex can feel Jack regarding him carefully. 

"Don't be sad, Turcs," Jack says finally. "You're going Big 10, gonna get drafted by the Cubbies." 

"I'm not sad," Alex lies. 

"Come on," Jack says. "I know you've been listening to that depressing playlist you love."

Alex takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna miss you so much, dude." 

"I'll miss you too," Jack says easily. 

"Yeah, but like," Alex hasn't ever said anything, but the countdown that's been in the background of everything this season is suddenly deafening, drowning out his better judgement. 

Jack pushes him with his knee. "You're my best friend, you know that."

Alex's heart twists in his chest. "You have a lot of best friends, Jacky."

"Yeah, so do you." Jack smiles, sly like he'd gotten one over on him. 

"It's different," Alex says around the lump in his throat. They still haven't talked about the morning in Jack's truck, and he hates feeling like the only one still thinking about it. 

Jack stares back at him, eyes wide, slowly blinking his long lashes. "Yeah, I know."

"Do you?" Alex asks. His heart jumps into his throat. He feels like he can hear it pounding in his ears. 

"God, Alex," Jack says. "Of course."

The silence stretches between them, the cicadas loud and insistent. Alex had wanted to have this conversation for so long, but now that it's happening he's terrified. Jack doesn't look happy. When he'd let himself imagine this Jack had always looked happy.

"It's just, I don't think," Jack says slowly. Alex has seen him cry before, just once, after they lost State last season. "I don't think I can afford to miss you any more than I'm already going to."

Alex can feel tears building behind his eyes, but he blinks them away, bites the inside of his cheek. 

"Yeah," he says, and he hates how much his voice wavers. "I understand." He doesn't, not really, but he's always known he could never fully comprehend the pressure Jack is under.

Jack leans over and runs his thumb across Alex's knuckles. "Sometimes it feels like you're the only one who does."

"You're gonna be so good, Jacky," Alex says, because he's trying his best not to dwell on the present that already feels like the past. 

"I know, but," Jack pauses and looks up at the sky. There are stars everywhere. Alex wonders if there will be any in New Jersey. Jack doesn't finish his sentence, but Alex understands what he's saying. Good isn't going to be enough, not for Jack Hughes. 

His chest aches and he wants to crawl into his bed and stay there, but Jack is still here, for now. Alex takes a deep breath and slugs him in the shoulder. "You're gonna work harder than anyone else out there, nothing's gonna stop you, you idiot."

Jack laughs, a wet surprised sound. He rolls over and buries his nose against Alex's arm until Alex lifts it and pulls him against his side. They're definitely going to get grass stains on their slacks, but he's pretty sure their moms can get grass stains out in their sleep by now. 

"I love you, bro," Jack says into the material of Alex's jacket. 

"Love you too, man," Alex says and wills time to slow down, just for tonight. 

-

Alex takes the mound for the semi-final game. No matter what happens this will probably be his last start with this team. He flexes his fingers inside his glove and rolls his shoulder. It feels good, has for months, but the echo is still there, a reminder of a time he wasn't whole. 

He throws a few warmups to Spencer and glances over at the dugout. Jack is leaning against the rail laughing with Pat. Alex's chest aches and he's about to turn away, get his head in the game when Jack turns and meets his eyes. A grin splits open across his face. "LET'S GO, BABY!" he yells. 

Alex smiles back, he can't help it. Then he turns back towards home and he's alone on the mound, the sound of Jack's voice still echoing in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lucky Strike by Troye Sivan. 
> 
> Thank you to C and K for beta reading this. I appreciated your encouragement and harsh feedback in equal measure.


End file.
